


Debriefing

by greygerbil



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: After the events of "The Final Problem," Mycroft confesses to Greg about Euros, his greatest failure.





	

“Did Sherlock send you?”

Mycroft sat in the downstairs waiting room in a high-back armchair that, as Greg knew, had a better documented history than his own family tree. In his hand was a glass of red wine. Flames crackled in the fireplace and threw unsteady light on the walls; otherwise, it was dead silent and dark.

“Yeah,” he said. It was nice of Mycroft to ask. Kept up the idea of conversation even if he usually knew what Greg was gonna say, anyway.

Mycroft swirled the wine in his glass and then gestured at the couch with it as Greg peeled himself out of his coat.

“He didn’t think you’d come on your own, so I suppose still hasn’t noticed we’re an item. Remarkable,” Mycroft noted, as he waited for Greg to sit down.

“It’s one of his blind spots.”

Greg draped his mantle, damp from the drizzling rain, over the back of the sofa Mycroft had pointed out to him.

“We all believe what we want to, even smart men and women,” Mycroft said, placing his glass down on a dark wooden table next to a leather-bound volume of ‘The Importance of Being Ernest’. When Greg glanced at him, he folded his hands in his lap, looking impassively at him.

“I have been scolded by Euros, John, Sherlock and my parents today, all with good reason. I suppose you will want to add your judgement.”

“I heard Euros did a bit more than just scolding,” Greg said, his stomach twisting at the thought of the reports he’d gotten from John and Sherlock, the photos of the bodies they’d found on that godforsaken island.

“She did it in her own way.”

Greg hesitated, then disregarded the sofa and sat down on Mycroft’s armrest instead, earning himself a somewhat confused glance. Sometimes, just sometimes, he could still surprise Mycroft.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. You, Sherlock, John... you could have died.”

Shock and relief had come in odd sequences today. To be called to investigate a crime involving his partner and two good friends was hair-raising, but once he’d arrived, the situation seemed under control; then John had launched into a retelling of what had happened, sending Greg’s heart thumping again.

Slowly, Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him.

“Yes, of course,” he said, like it was an unexpected thought that Greg might be mostly concerned with the survival of his loved ones first, despite all circumstances.

Greg felt almost too exhausted to say more. Today had been a rollercoaster already and he had more than a dozen mutilated corpses waiting for him in the morgue tomorrow. He could only imagine what it looked like inside of Mycroft. Was it worth fighting now? But he could sense Mycroft was still waiting. Perhaps he was afraid that Greg, after the latest bout of Holmes-related insanity, would throw the towel and run. It wasn’t fair to leave him in suspense like that, not after the nightmare of a day he’d had.

“Right, let me get this straight. You had this secret sister who is even more intelligent than you. She killed a boy and burned the house down and then your uncle had her shipped off.”

It sounded like the plot to one of the bad horror flicks Mycroft routinely refused to watch with him, to be honest. Only in Mycroft’s world could these things actually happen.

“Yes, correct. Well, after she had gone to a regular mental institution, which did not go over well for anyone there.”

“You were in your teens,” Greg guessed. He’d been trying to get the timeline straight on his drive here. “Your uncle shared that with you rather than your parents?”

“I wasn’t a normal teenager.”

Greg didn’t think that was reason enough. A teenager was a teenager. No fifteen year old should be asked to participate in these kind of decisions. However, he knew Mycroft would not concede that, so he dropped it.

“I’m surprised, Greg,” Mycroft said dryly before Greg could continue. “All these probing little questions and yet here I thought you were my heart and conscience given form. You should be the angriest one.”

Greg leaned back, slowly shaking his head.

“No... I get it.”

Again, Mycroft raised a brow.

“I’ve been at this crossroads before,” Greg said, slowly. “Not with a sister, sure, but... okay, look.”

Greg’s leg was dangling from the armrest, his heel knocking ceaselessly against the side of the chair as he stared at a wall of bookcases.

“People wanna think that you can fix everyone, but sometimes – you just can’t. Or you have a tiny chance, but the risk to others is just not worth it. I meet them at work and I don’t know if these people are born broken or something happened in their past, but by the time I get to them, it’s just... too late.” He sighed. “People generally don’t want to admit that because it’s scary to think that someday, the lost cause could be someone you like, or it could be yourself. It still happens, though, and then you have to prioritise protecting others from them. That’s what being a copper is all about, isn’t it? That’s why I understand.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Mycroft sipped from his wine again.

“I did it because it was necessary,” he agreed, “and because I’m not a good man – unlike Sherlock, as you have pointed out to your officer.”

Greg had stopped wondering how he knew these things; there was always someone around to inform him of what he might find interesting. He’d gotten used to keeping his mouth shut if he wanted something to remain a secret, but of course, that wasn’t always enough with Mycroft.

“Unlike you, too,” Mycroft continued. “You talk about criminals, but you could have never imprisoned one of your own siblings.”

Greg thought of his two older sisters, his three younger brothers, and considered one of them locked up in Sherrinford.

“No, I couldn’t have,” Greg admitted. “And maybe, if Euros were my sister, she’d have killed one of my brothers for it.”

“Maybe not. Maybe you would have been the friend she needed.”

“It would be nice if that were all it would have taken to stop her, My, but do you really think that would have been enough?”

He’d only met her briefly, a silent woman with no more energy to spend, but he’d seen the security camera records, the corpses she’d left littering Sherrinford. 

Slowly, Mycroft shook his head.

“No. I think I just want to believe I can safe her, or could have saved her, even though I know better.”

Wordlessly, Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s arm. Mycroft looked up at him.

“Fixing Euros was not possible because there is, fundamentally, nothing wrong with her, not if you look at it from her perspective. Her brain operates on a level that transcends humanity, so why should she not kill normal people like we kill cattle?” Mycroft said softly. “If another like her cannot be found, she will remain forever alone in the vast expanse of her own mind and it was always going to drive her crazy, even if someone waves from down on the ground sometimes.”

Greg had an inkling that Mycroft knew that feeling, just a little bit. He still kept quiet.

“No,” Mycroft continued. “Having a friend would not have changed who she is. She might have pretended for a while. She might have tried. She would have failed.” Sadness washed over his expression like a wave licked a beach, then drew back. “If it was your daughter, would you have wanted to be told?”

“Yes,” Greg said, this time without hesitation as the images of his own kids popped into his mind.

“It would’ve destroyed you,” Mycroft pointed out, with slight surprise. “Especially you. You adore your children.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Still, your kids are allowed to do that. They get that power.” He glanced at Mycroft. “I understand why you didn’t tell your parents, though. It’s tempting, trying to spare people pain. It was wrong, but... in a nice way.”

Mycroft huffed a brief, humourless laugh.

“It was wrong. That is all that matters. Everything I did in regards to Euros was wrong.”

“The Moriarty thing was not a great idea,” Greg agreed. “Other than that, though? I wouldn’t know there was a right thing to do. You couldn’t let her go free, no doctor was smart enough to contend with her, so what choice did you have? Kill your sister? Sometimes, there is no winning move, even if you try your best. Even for a Holmes. That’s just life.”

There was another long moment of silence. Mycroft stared ahead at the bookshelves.

“It irritates me to no end that you’re right.”

“Because it makes you crazy when there’s something you can’t control,” Greg said with a lopsided smile. He pushed himself backwards, sitting half on Mycroft’s lap now, his legs hanging over the armrest. It was an awkward position to hug him from, but he managed to pull him tight into his arms anyway. “And because she’s your sister and you’ve always cared about your siblings. Don’t,” he added, when he heard Mycroft take a breath and Greg knew he would protest, but he didn’t need to hear it now when they both knew Greg was right. Mycroft fell quiet.

“I wish things were different,” Mycroft said, eventually, his hand resting on the back of Greg’s head. “I wish Euros had been like Sherlock, or me.”

“I know.”

Greg didn’t think he’d ever heard him say anything like that. The word ‘wish’ didn’t really turn up much in his vocabulary, other than when he needled Sherlock about what he ‘wished’ he would do. When he put it to his brother like that, it meant that he didn’t believe it would happen, that he said it to be contrarian, not because he thought it would have an effect. Mycroft didn’t wish for things, he made sure they happened.

Here, however, he was powerless.


End file.
